The Distant Temple
Act I The reclamation yard outside Cairo smelled of wet iron and the peat cut from the upland bogs, a scent that clung to the wool of Tariq Mansour’s coat despite the thin, hard alpine light that struck the ground at a low angle. He was forty years old, a senior inspector in the Ottoman Railways archives, and his hands trembled with the early palsy that signaled the Director’s impending...
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